The Wrath of the Little Guardians
"YOU!"
Percy's shout echoed through the clearing the instant he spotted the man sitting beside a campfire, calmly gazing up at the night sky.
"Oh… you came back quickly. Did you forget something?" the man asked quietly, not even turning his head all the way.
But the two boys were staring at him with a mix of anger and suspicion, as if they were facing their greatest enemy. The man noticed their looks and raised an eyebrow slightly.
Without another word, Percy ripped off the sword-shaped pendant hanging from his neck. The moment he held it in his hand, the weapon grew to its full size, gleaming with intricate runes and rare materials that radiated a magical signature the man instantly recognized.
Beside him, Harry held an open grimoire, watching intently as he began chanting a quick incantation.
"What did you do to Aunt Mor?!" shouted Percy, charging forward at full speed.
This was nothing like the time he had sparred with Harry. Back then, he had needed to be careful not to hurt his brother with friendly fire. Now, however, he was ready for a real fight.
The man looked at them with mild interest, then stood and grasped his sheathed sword. Without even drawing it, he effortlessly blocked Percy's first strike.
"Fire!" Harry commanded, and several blazing fireballs shot toward the stranger.
The man smiled faintly but didn't move an inch. The flames passed straight through him — mere illusions.
Percy didn't hesitate. He continued with a rapid chain of strikes, precise and well-trained. The man, however, simply blocked and deflected each blow with ease, his sword still inside its sheath.
Then, as a fireball approached, he lifted his gaze and extended a hand, catching it — or rather, catching what it concealed. It wasn't fire at all, but a rock hidden within the illusion.
He looked toward Harry, who was already preparing another spell. But Percy leapt high enough to block his brother's line of sight and swung his blade at the man's face.
"Oh… quite ruthless," the man remarked casually, tilting his head just enough for the blade to pass a hair's breadth from his skin.
Percy landed, then threw himself forward again, lunging straight for the man's stomach.
The man parried with ease and, with a smooth motion, crouched slightly and placed a hand on Percy's chest, pushing him upward and sending him flying.
Percy shot straight toward Harry, who was in the middle of another chant. Seeing his brother hurtling toward him, Harry stopped immediately and jumped to the side.
Percy landed on his feet, though he slid back a little before bracing himself with one hand on the ground. Both boys lifted their heads, ready to continue—
But they didn't get the chance.
A sharp smack from the man's sword sheath landed squarely on their heads at the same time.
The pain froze them instantly. They clutched their foreheads, glaring angrily at the man who, to them, had hurt their aunt — and therefore was their enemy.
"Relax. I didn't do anything to your Aunt Mor," he said with a slightly strained smile, watching the hatred in the eyes of the two little ones who, only hours ago, had been playing with him.
Still, there was a spark of approval in his eyes. They hadn't hesitated to come for him the moment they thought someone had harmed someone they loved.
"Then why did Aunt Mor cry when she saw you in the video?" asked Harry suspiciously.
"That's right," added Percy, ready to raise his sword again.
"Can't a person cry out of happiness too?" the man replied, his voice tinged with fatigue.
"Eh?" both boys said in unison, pausing in confusion but keeping their guard up.
"Didn't anyone ever teach you to ask questions before attacking?" the man teased lightly. "Since you can come and go so easily, why don't you go and ask before jumping to conclusions?"
The two exchanged uncertain looks. Still suspicious, they backed away slowly, walking backward toward the fireplace without taking their eyes off him.
…
They returned soon after, both wearing serious, complicated expressions. Mor looked at them calmly and asked what had happened.
Harry was the first to spill everything, explaining the entire story from beginning to end.
"You did what?!" shouted Sally, horrified, as the two boys stood before her, repeating their question about why their aunt had cried when she saw the man.
"Pff…" Mor couldn't hold back a laugh, though her expression also showed tenderness and joy at how protective the boys were. Still, Sally's glare could have killed a basilisk — she had never looked so furious.
After all, her sons had just admitted to attacking someone.
Meanwhile, Fleamont, who had stopped pretending to be dead in his portrait, burst out laughing.
"That reminds me of James. Harry really did inherit his traits," he chuckled, until Euphemia smacked the frame of the portrait with her hand.
"You're not helping, old man," she said sternly.
"But Aunt Mor cried when she saw him… so he must be a bad man," Harry murmured quietly.
"And if he is bad, you two still dare go back to where he was?" replied Sally firmly, her serious gaze fixed on them.
"Just to be clear, I'm technically evil," Mor interjected, though the look Sally gave her made it very clear she wasn't helping at all.
"It's fine, don't worry. He didn't do anything to me. Actually, I'm very happy to see him alive. It's just that… after so long, it was a bit overwhelming," Mor explained, glancing at the two little ones, who now looked truly remorseful.
"And what do we do now? They have to apologize, but…" Sally looked toward the fireplace. After all, it seemed that only the children could pass through it; no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't.
"Then let them go," Mor said calmly. "As I said, they'll be safe there. And he probably took it as a game."
Sally turned to her sons. Both kept their heads bowed, guilt written all over their faces.
…
"We're sorry…" the boys said when they returned a few minutes later, their faces full of shame.
They approached the man slowly, heads lowered, cheeks red with embarrassment and eyes shimmering with tears. It was obvious they had been scolded… and sent to apologize.
And, to make matters worse, they had been punished: an entire month without dessert for sneaking out without permission — and for attacking someone on top of that.
"So… you broke into someone's house without permission, again. And this time you attacked him, trying to kill him." The man raised an eyebrow, his voice dripping with sarcasm as a mocking smile curved his lips. "Really, that thing called 'the police' would be very interested in taking you for a little trip."
Both boys went pale instantly.
"We didn't want to kill you!" Percy blurted out, lifting his head quickly.
But right after, his voice softened and he shrank a little.
"We just wanted to hurt you… a bit."
His eyes fell to the ground in embarrassment.
The man let out a calm, brief laugh. "Well, I forgive you. After all, I like your style."
Both sighed in relief.
"By the way," the man added, turning his gaze toward Percy. "Who taught you to use a sword? I don't think it was that old man… he should be dead by now. Maybe one of his students? Or perhaps a grumpy goblin?"
Percy blinked in surprise. "Yeah, my teacher is a goblin named Einjard. How did you know he was grumpy?" he asked, more impressed that the man had guessed his temperament than the fact he'd figured out he was a goblin.
"I just assumed," the man replied calmly. "After all, I taught him when he first arrived here, a long time ago. Besides you two, only two others have ever appeared in this place. Both were swordsmen… though one of them was a reject of magic."
His tone remained calm, almost nostalgic.
"So, technically, that makes me something like your grandmaster."
Percy flinched slightly. If this man was his master's teacher, then Einjard would probably kill him if he ever found out he had attacked his old mentor.
The man seemed to read his thoughts and smiled. "Don't worry. It's not like I'm still in touch with him," he said with a careless wave of his hand.
"Uh… it's getting late. We have to go back, or Mom will punish us even worse," Harry interrupted quickly. "She said she'll send something tomorrow as an apology."
"Oh, I see. Then go on," the man replied calmly.
Both nodded with their guilty little faces. Just before leaving, Percy lifted his head.
"Don't you want to tell Aunt Mor anything? She said she was happy to see you alive."
The man was silent for a few seconds. Then his expression softened.
"Tell her… I'm glad she managed to get out. And that I'm sorry for not being the one who could bring her back myself."
The children nodded quietly before vanishing through the fireplace.
…
Meanwhile, elsewhere, under the cover of night…
"Ah… a messenger again," Sirius muttered as he approached a massive mansion. His expression was serious as his eyes lingered on the doorknob, engraved with a very familiar symbol.
Behind him, a figure twisted in the air — head covered by a hood, body bound by glowing magical threads that kept it suspended. The tip of Sirius's wand was aimed straight at the prisoner, guiding him like an unwanted parcel.
He raised his hand, ready to knock, but before he could, the door swung open.
Standing there was a knight without his helmet, his polished armor gleaming under the faint moonlight. It was Adrien.
"I was expecting you," he said firmly, first glancing at Sirius, then at the floating figure behind him.
"Here he is. I'll just drop him off and be on my way," Sirius replied nonchalantly, flicking his wand. The bound man flew past Adrien, who stepped aside with barely a movement, letting the body crash inside with a dull thud.
Sirius smirked slightly at his reaction.
"It'd be nice if you hurried up and caught the culprits," he said, crossing his arms. "If not, I won't be able to visit my godson."
Adrien looked him up and down — expressionless — then closed the door in his face without a word.
Sirius frowned, clearly annoyed.
"Tsk… arrogant," he muttered before turning around.
He glanced toward a dark corner between the alleys, standing still for a few seconds.
Then, a mischievous grin spread across his face.
With a faint crack, he vanished — Apparating away into the night.